We Gather Together
by htbthomas
Summary: Mary Jane and Peter spend Thanksgiving with Aunt May and MJ's parents, but will her schmuck of a father ruin the whole day? Movieverse. Co–authored with Georgia Kennedy.
1. Chapter 1

**WE GATHER TOGETHER **

**by HTBThomas & Georgia Kennedy**

**Disclaimer**

**This story is a work of fiction based upon Spider-Man, copyright 2002 by Columbia Pictures Industries, Inc, all rights reserved. Spider-Man 2, copyright 2004 by Columbia Pictures Industries, Inc., all rights reserved, Spider-Man 3, copyright 2007 by Columbia Pictures Industries, Inc., all rights reserved, Hulk, copyright 2003 by Universal Studios, Inc., all rights reserved. and Daredevil - Director's Cut, copyright 2004 by Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, Inc., all rights reserved. The authors are not connected with nor is this work authorized by Marvel Enterprises, or the aforementioned motion picture studios. This work is intended solely for posting on fanfiction websites, for the benefit and enjoyment of their intended audiences. No commercial or financial benefit accrues or is intended to accrue to the authors as a result of said posting.**

"Here we are."

Lifting the helmet from her head, Mary Jane Watson pushed a few stray strands of fire-red hair away from her mouth. The Harley Davidson's engine cut off, but instead of blessed silence, she was left with the thoughts that had been rattling around inside her head all morning. Since it had been impossible to talk during the ride to Aunt May's apartment, MJ had been grateful that the sounds of traffic and the rush of scenery around her kept her from dwelling on the demons that had been plaguing her all week long.

Today was Thanksgiving - a day when family and friends gathered together to share a meal and celebrate life's many blessings. And Mary Jane certainly had a lot of blessings to celebrate in her life. Her career was back on track after her less-than-stellar Broadway debut, and she had the love of the most wonderful man she'd ever known, a man who was both as familiar as the boy next door and as exciting as her wildest fantasies.

It was the family part that had her on edge right now. Not her mother, who was happy and well, thank God. Not Aunt May, who had accepted MJ into the Parker family as if she'd always been a part of it. It was her father. Ever since they crossed the 59th Street Bridge from Manhattan into Queens, her stomach had been knotting up at the very thought of having to be in the same room with Philip Watson for more than two minutes. _Why are we doing this again?_ she thought anxiously. But as much as she and Peter had been putting this off, they both knew that with the wedding approaching, they had to make the best of a bad situation.

And Thanksgiving had never really been her favorite holiday, anyway. Her childhood dinners had mostly been an excuse to have turkey and dressing. There had never been much to be thankful for - especially not when her mother would go upstairs to bed with a headache, her father would have a few too many beers and sprawl on the couch, oblivious to everything but the football game, and she would be up to her armpits in soapsuds, scrubbing the roasting pan. Worse was the happy conversation and laughter that floated through the kitchen window from the Parker residence next door, a bitter reminder of what had been sorely lacking in her life.

No, she corrected herself, nothing could be worse than that disastrous Thanksgiving with Norman Osborn in Harry and Peter's apartment a couple of years ago. She'd been used to hearing her father tear her down with every other sentence, but to hear it from her boyfriend's father, too? The man for whom both Harry and Peter had the utmost respect? She had felt lower than low, unfit for anyone's company. That terrible day had marked the beginning of the end for her relationship with Harry.

MJ shivered again, and it had nothing to do with the chill in the air. She had been imagining a hundred different ways this could go, each one worse than the last. As low an opinion Philip Watson had for his daughter, his opinion of Peter was even lower... Yes, it was true that he had given Mary Jane his blessing to bolt from her wedding to John Jameson when it became clear to him that she was in love with Peter. But in every encounter she had had with him since that day, he would lace into her, calling her a loser, never letting any opportunity to remind her of what she had thrown away go by.

She felt Peter's hand gently caress her shoulder. "Hey, MJ, are you okay?"

MJ pasted on a brave smile as she turned to him. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"It'll be all right, MJ, I promise," he told her, seeing through her thin facade immediately. He drew her into a hug and whispered into her hair, "There's nothing he can do or say that can hurt you. Not while I'm around."

She closed her eyes, trying to banish all of her fears. "I know that, Peter. I'll try not to worry."

He released her and stepped back, holding his hand out for her to take. "Shall we?" He grinned suddenly. "I think I can smell Aunt May's cooking from all the way down here."

She immediately felt better, sniffing the air. "I didn't know you and Matt Murdock shared that ability," she teased, taking his hand. His answering laughter fortified her all the way up the seven flights of stairs.

Mary Jane was still smiling by the time May opened her door. "Peter! Mary Jane!" She opened her arms to wrap the both of them in a warm hug. "It's so good to see you again!"

"It's good to see you, too, Aunt May," Peter said. "I wish we could get over here more often."

"Never mind. I know you both are very busy... I understand." She startled and began to shoo them inside. "What am I doing? I'm such a silly old woman... come in out of that chilly hallway and have a cup of something warm!"

Once the door was closed behind them, MJ breathed in the tempting aromas pervading the apartment. Of course, this wasn't unusual - May was a fantastic cook. There was always something freshly baked on the counter, or currently baking in the oven. The turkey had probably been in the oven for a couple hours, and the mouth-watering scent of roasting meat made her stomach rumble involuntarily. "It smells fabulous, Aunt May."

"Thank you, dear," she answered, holding out her hands for MJ's jacket. "But it's not all me this time. Your mother is in the kitchen - why don't you go say hello?"

MJ nodded her thanks as she passed her jacket over, and walked toward the apartment's small, but well-appointed kitchen. "Mom?" she called, popping her head around the corner.

"Mary Jane!" Madeline Watson's face lit up in a bright smile. From looking at her, one would never have known that, three months earlier, she had been given only a few weeks to live. Her figure was once again full, and her hair had grown back. There were no traces of the cancer that had ravaged her body.

She lay the cutting knife she had been using on the counter and bustled over to hug her daughter and her almost-son-in-law.

"How are you feeling, Mom?"

"Didn't Peter tell you? I'm cured." Her face practically shone as she spoke. "Those nanomed treatments are a miracle."

Mary Jane gave Madeline a kiss on one rosy cheek. "I'm so glad." _And being separated from Dad, you'll stay cured, I'll bet._

"Any side effects?" a concerned Peter asked. He had done the legwork to get Madeline into the nanomed program at Columbia University's medical center. Mary Jane wondered whether he was worried about her mom suffering the same fate as Bruce Banner - the victim of a disastrous accident involving the nanomeds that had turned him into The Hulk a few years earlier.

"None, thank heavens. Dr. Ross said I might have some residual nausea from the gamma radiation, but so far I haven't had any, knock on wood." She rapped her knuckles on the countertop just to make sure.

Peter, meanwhile, had plucked another knife from the block and had started to slice cucumbers.

May came into the kitchen, shaking her head. "No, Peter, don't you worry a bit, we've got everything covered. Go sit on the couch and prop your feet up, watch a little TV..."

"Are you sure, Aunt May? I'm pretty good with a knife, you know."

"Positive." May quickly inspected the twenty-pound turkey roasting in the oven. "That dear boy, he works so hard," she said to Madeline, who nodded in agreement. "He deserves a day off." She noticed that MJ was also chopping vegetables. "Mary Jane, you too - let _us_ do this."

"I _want_ to help, Aunt May," MJ assured her. She glanced up at the clock. Her father was due to arrive in less than an hour. "I think it'd be good to keep my hands busy."

May gave her an understanding look - she was just as intuitive as her nephew, maybe more so, when it came to reading MJ's moods. "Well, there's really just the salad now. The turkey will be done soon, the pies and green bean casserole are all finished... the rolls need to wait until right before we eat..." She looked around the kitchen once more, a thoughtful hand below her chin. "I suppose you could help make the gravy once the turkey's out of the oven."

MJ gave her a grateful smile. "I'd be happy to."

The three ladies worked together in companionable silence, the sound of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade emanating from the television. Every once in a while, MJ would glance over at Peter, who seemed to be perfectly happy listening to the hosts' banter, sometimes humming along with the marching bands. It seemed so strange not to see him in communion with his laptop computer or talking into his cell phone... or changing into his red and blue tights. He caught her eye, smiled, and blew her a kiss.

MJ winked back, but at that moment, the TV screen suddenly filled with a profusion of red, covered by black webbing. MJ put a hand to her mouth in an amused gasp, and Peter turned to see...

_"And now for our newest giant balloon - The Amazing Spider-Man!"_ Katie Couric's voice bubbled with excitement, and the sounds of cheers from the crowd could be heard in the background. Peter's mouth dropped open as he stared in shock at the TV. _"The crowd seems to really like this one! It's almost as if he's really flying across the sky, isn't it?"  
_  
_"Yes, I'd say it's pretty_ _'spectacular'..." _Matt Lauer chortled.

"Well, it's about time he got his own balloon." Madeline's voice came from behind her as she stepped around MJ to get closer to the television. "That man does so much without ever expecting anything in return."

"I completely agree," May added, patting MJ's shoulder on her way past. "Even though the newspapers have stopped running photos, he needs to know how much he's appreciated."

Peter was still mesmerized, though he had closed his mouth. The conversation going on around him was not registering at all. MJ set the gravy to warm, it was nearly finished now anyway, and went to sit beside Peter on the afghan-covered couch. "Well, he's certainly not that bloated in person," she joked, squeezing Peter's knee. "The camera must add 2000 pounds."

Peter spluttered, the spell broken. "That's what they say anyway... except I think it's more like negative 200 pounds." He gave her a kiss on the cheek. May smiled fondly from beside the armrest.

"Well," Madeline added, "Not all of us have been lucky enough to meet him in person once, let alone twice. He's probably larger than life to most people."

"So, Aunt May..." Peter was obviously trying to change the subject. "How's it going in there?"

"Oh, everything is ready to go - the table's set, the food is warming... we just have to wait until Mary Jane's father gets here."

At the mention of her father, a small pang of nervousness flitted through MJ's stomach again. Peter squeezed her hand, letting her know that he was there for her. But if she had to sit here in front of the TV, twiddling her thumbs until he got here, she might just go cr--

Suddenly a long arpeggiated chord rang out from the old upright piano against the wall. "Why don't we pass the time with a little music?" May asked from the piano bench. "Peter, would you mind turning off the TV and helping me with the page turns?"

Peter nodded, shutting off the television with the remote control. He came to stand beside his aunt as she began to play the first few phrases of the introduction to a famous jazz standard. Suddenly, his face clouded. "Um, Aunt May, maybe you'd better pick another number..."

"What's wrong with this one? It's an American classic."

But Mary Jane knew exactly why Peter was troubled. May had chosen "Stardust" by Hoagy Carmichael - one of her numbers in _Manhattan Memories_. "No, no... it's okay. I really love this song." She smiled reassuringly toward Peter. "Do you mind if I sing along?"

"I'd be absolutely honored!" She repeated the last four bars as a vamp, and Mary Jane began to sing:

_ And now the purple dusk of twilight time  
Steals across the meadows of my heart_

She closed her eyes and let the music wash over her, putting her heart into her singing. She felt a confidence fill her, here in the presence of those who loved her - a confidence she hadn't possessed when she first sang this song on stage. Strangely enough, she no longer felt the pang of hurt that she once felt whenever anything associated with _Memories_ came up. She could simply enjoy the song for itself.

_High up in the sky the little stars climb  
Always reminding me that we're apart_

A smile stole across her lips, imagining those many starry nights that she and Peter would recline on one of his webs, gazing into the sky. The difference was that they were no longer apart - starlight had nothing but good connotations for the two of them.

_ You wander down the lane and far away  
Leaving me a song that will not die  
Love is now the stardust of yesterday  
The music of the years gone by_

Mary Jane opened her eyes now, singing to her audience of three. Her mother smiled fondly, Peter proudly. May seemed as lost in the music as she was, rocking gently back and forth as the accompaniment's range moved from treble to bass and back again.

_ Sometimes I wonder why I spend  
The lonely night dreaming of a song  
The melody haunts my reverie  
And I am once again with you  
When our love was new  
And each kiss an inspiration  
But that was long ago  
Now my consolation  
Is in the stardust of a song_

Her audience may have been small, but it felt just as thrilling as singing before a packed house. And there were no jaded critics here to tear her down, not even her father, who had often denigrated her singing as frivolous and much worse.

Not Peter though. He had never been anything but supportive of her career, even when it felt like the bottom was falling out. She turned her gaze on him directly, singing the next words just for him...

_ Beside a garden wall,  
When stars are bright, you are in my arms  
The nightingale, tells his fairy tale_ . . .

Suddenly, Mary Jane saw Peter's eyes widen sharply and his head turn toward the door.

**To be continued**


	2. Chapter 2

**WE GATHER TOGETHER**

**by HTBThomas & Georgia Kennedy**

**Disclaimer**

**This story is a work of fiction based upon **_**Spider-Man,**_** copyright 2002 by Columbia Pictures Industries, Inc, all rights reserved.**_** Spider-Man 2**_**, copyright 2004 by Columbia Pictures Industries, Inc., all rights reserved, **_**Spider-Man 3, **_**copyright 2007 by Columbia Pictures Industries, Inc., all rights reserved, **_**Hulk, **_**copyright 2003 by Universal Studios, Inc., all rights reserved.****and **_**Daredevil - Director's Cut**_**, copyright 2004 by Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, Inc., all rights reserved. The authors are not connected with nor is this work authorized by Marvel Enterprises, or the aforementioned motion picture studios. This work is intended solely for posting on fanfiction websites, for the benefit and enjoyment of their intended audiences. No commercial or financial benefit accrues or is intended to accrue to the authors as a result of said posting. **

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It suddenly felt as if the temperature in the apartment had dropped thirty degrees, despite the heat coming from the kitchen.

Phillip Watson was standing in the doorway, wearing a decent, if ill-fitting jacket and tie, holding his beat-up porkpie hat. To Mary Jane, the surly expression on his face said it all... _I'd rather be at_ Paulie's Grill _with my drinking buddies, but since I gotta do this meet-my-son-in-law crap, I might as well get it over with and get a free meal out of it_...

"Phil." Madeline Watson acknowledged her husband's presence with a brief, courteous nod.

"Madeline," Phil Watson grunted in that voice that reminded one of gravel spilling out of a dumptruck. He appeared to be giving his wife a head-to-toe inspection. "You ... you're lookin' kinda good. You feelin' all right?"

"Yes, thank you." Madeline was doing her best not to sound too uptight. But it was hard after twenty-three years of dysfunctional marriage.

Phil's beady eyes darted around the room, catching Mary Jane as she leaned against the piano, Peter at her side. "Uh, hi, Dad," MJ said nervously.

Phil snorted under his breath. "You got some muscle there, Mary Jane. You workin' out, or somethin'?" He rarely, if ever, complimented his daughter. And when he did, he somehow managed to make it sound like an insult.

"Every day," Mary Jane answered, subdued. She felt Peter's hand gently take hold of hers. She squeezed back, needing to reassure herself that she was safe.

"Phil," Madeline urged. "Why don't you say hello to May and Peter? After all, they had the courtesy to invite us."

"Thanks, Mrs. Parker," he half-mumbled. He did not even bother acknowledging Peter, who took the snub in stride.

"You're welcome, Mr. Watson." Aunt May replied, doing her best to keep her holiday cheer intact. Her smile seemed genuine. "Did you have any trouble finding the apartment?"

"Nah," he said with a snicker. "No trouble at all, thanks to that racket I heard getting off the elevator."

Mary Jane's eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared. The nervousness she had been feeling quickly turned into a wave of anger rising in her throat. Not only had her father put her down, but he managed to hurl one of his zingers at Aunt May, as well. The old woman was bending over backwards to make him feel welcome, and this was the thanks she got?

But May simply ignored it. She and Peter had been through far too many hardships in their lives to allow themselves to be bothered by anything that came out of this ignoramus's big mouth. They knew what he was; they must have always known. Night after night, Phil Watson's drunken bellowing would drift over to the Parker house from across the alley. Perhaps that was why Mary Jane was not surprised when Peter took it upon himself to launch a peace mission. He stepped forward and offered his hand.

"Mr. Watson," he said in his typical, soft-spoken manner.

"How ya doin' ... owwww! What the ...?" Mary Jane could see confusion on Phil's face. She wondered whether her father was even capable of getting the subtle message that Peter was obviously sending.

After staring at Peter for nearly a minute, Phil finally snapped out of it. "Got a beer?" he asked May.

"Phil, you promised that you wouldn't drink today," Madeline said a little sharply.

"Lay off, Madeline, will ya? I'm a little thirsty. One beer ain't gonna hurt nothin'."

May had extracted a bottle of O'Douls from the refrigerator and handed it to him. "Here, Mr. Watson. Try this. It's nonalcoholic."

"Thanks," he grunted. "It ain't my first choice, but I'll take it."

"Would you like a glass?" May asked.

Phil shook his head as he popped the cap off. "Ain't necessary." He swallowed over half the bottle with one swig. A few seconds later, he belched.

Madeline could only shrug helplessly at May, who gestured that she understood.

Mary Jane rolled her eyes, feeling embarassed as well as disgusted.

Phil had put down his drink and glanced at the cuckoo clock on the living room wall. "Where's the remote?" he demanded. "The football game's on." Eyeing the remote on the coffee table, he snatched it up and aimed it at the newly installed cable box.

"Who's playing?" Peter asked as Phil flipped the channel to FOX.

"The Detroit Lions are hostin' the New England Patriots."

"Phil," Madeline pleaded. "Why don't you just relax and be a part of the conversation? You can watch football anytime."

Phil Watson glared at his wife, irritated. "You know I watch football every Thanksgiving. I ain't about to stop now."

"It's all right, Madeline," May said. "Let him watch if he wants to. It will keep him occupied until dinner's ready."

Phil parked himself on the sofa, directly in front of the TV. Peter sat down next to him, but Phil was too engrossed in the game to even bother acknowledging his presence. Joe Buck was calling the play-by-play. _"First and ten ... Brady hands off to Varick ... It's a counter-gap over the right side ... Varick knocks over a Lions defender, breaking into the open field ... There he goes ... on the way to his seventeenth touchdown ... and a new NFL record. Chuck Varick becomes the first and only player to rush for over two thousand yards in two consecutive seasons."_

On cue, Troy Aikman delivered his usual incisive color commentary. _G__ood effort by __Eugene Thompson, the Lions' rookie defensive end out of Syracuse__, trying to close the hole, but Varick just dropped his shoulder ran right over Thompson, putting him on the ground. Once Varick busts through the line of scrimmage, he's impossible to bring down."_

"_Quite Right, Troy. Chuck Varick's been a big reason why the Patriots have won __three__ Superbowls and may be on the way to a __fourth__. Only seven years in the league and he already has over eleven thousand rushing yards ..._"

Phil, meanwhile, had gotten a good look at the hapless defender who looked like he had just been run over by a freight train. "Hey, Mary Jane," he called out over his shoulder. "You'll never guess who's playin' for Detroit?"

Mary Jane had finished making the gravy and was putting it the table. "No idea, Dad." She looked up and saw Peter grinning from ear to ear.

"Flash Thompson. I told you he was gonna hit the big time, didn't I? He must be makin' millions."

But Mary Jane just shrugged her shoulders. "So, what? He was a jerk back then, and he's probably a rich jerk now."

"Yeah?" Phil barked back, starting to get riled up as an old, sadly familiar Watson family dynamic started to kick in. "I'll bet he's livin' in a twenty-room mansion while you two are shackin' up in some Hell's Kitchen tenement."

"Phil!" Madeline shouted, appalled by her husband's complete lack of tact.

"Don't look at me, Madeline. This girl started it with her smart-ass mouth."

Mary Jane was so furious that if the gravy were still in her hands, she would have hurled it right at her father's face.

Even Aunt May was taken aback. She did not say a word, but Mary Jane could read the expression on her face as clear as an open book. _How dare you make those insinuations about my nephew ..._

Fortunately, Peter was able to diffuse the situation before it got out of hand. "Actually, Mr. Watson, we're living in a co-op," he put in mildly.

"Whaddidya move or somethin?"

"No. We exercised an option to buy when the apartment converted."

"Well, the Kitchen ain't exactly no gated community. And you ain't Spider-Man ... What are you snickering at, girl?"

"Um ... nothing." Mary Jane could not help it. The thought of Peter ripping open his shirt and revealing his spider-costume to her unsuspecting father was so hilarious that it had actually helped dissipate her anger a little. She quickly glanced at Aunt May, who managed to conceal a smile while checking on the bird. As for Peter, he merely nodded in agreement as Phil Watson continued to lecture him. "What if your girlfriend here was walkin' home by herself, and some punk jumped out of an alley and stuck a knife in her throat? What the hell would you do then, genius?"

"Dad!"

"Hang on a second, MJ." Peter winked at his fiancée, letting her know that he had the situation under control. "I think your dad may have a point..."

"Damn straight, Parker. You may have gotten lucky against Flash, but lightning don't strike twice in the same place."

"Well," Peter commented in a low-key fashion. "MJ always said you know a lot about boxing. Maybe you could show me a few moves?"

The three women turned toward Peter with looks of astonishment.

Phil Watson threw his prospective son-in-law a contemptuous glance. "You wanna go up against _me_?"

"You said it yourself, Mr. Watson. Hell's Kitchen is a rough neighborhood. I could probably use some pointers."

"Phil, this isn't the time or the place," Madeline interrupted.

"I'll be happy to teach him how to fight, if that's what he wants," Phil snapped. "At least this college boy's got enough guts to admit that he don't know everything."

Aunt May started to say something, but deferred to Mary Jane. "Don't be too rough on him, Tiger," MJ said with a sly smile.

Phil Watson snorted with contempt. "Get over here," he growled, taking off his jacket and beckoning Peter to join him in the center of the living room. "Bend your knees, put one foot in front of the other, and crouch low ... that's it. Now, put both fists up."

Peter did as Phil instructed, holding his fists upright, chest-high, a la the great nineteenth-century boxer John L. Sullivan.

"No, no. Not like that. Nobody does that anymore. They'd eat ya alive. Get down a little lower. Now, put them mitts up near your face, so you can protect yourself. That's it."

"Uh, what do I do next?" Peter asked meekly.

Phil did not answer, at least not with words. He was already in a combat stance. "Ya ready for me, tough guy?" he hissed. Suddenly he lunged at Peter and let loose a flurry of jabs and uppercuts, moving quickly for a middle-aged man with a paunch.

But as fast as he thought he was, Peter was even faster. May and Mary Jane watched in amusement as Peter effortlessly weaved away from the man's onslaught. As for Madeline, she seemed to be wondering how anyone could move that swiftly.

"What the hell ... ?" Phil was stunned. He could not believe it either. "How'd ya do that?" he panted.

"Do what?" Peter asked in mock-confusion.

Peter's mild-mannered, almost casual dodging seemed to make Phil Watson even madder. He kept bobbing and weaving, his frustrations mounting as he repeatedly tried to land a blow. But the only thing his fists could connect with was empty air. Finally, exhausted and out of breath, he bent down, clasping his hands on his knees, an expression of confused displeasure on his face. "Just how the hell did you manage to lay one on Flash anyway?" he demanded. "Was he just toying with you?"

"To tell you the truth, Mr. Watson, I don't even know how I did it. All I remember is that I was scared. Maybe I was like that mom who had the big adrenaline rush and lifted a car to save her baby."

"That's a bunch of bullshit." Phil sneered. "Tell you what, boy, why don't you take a shot at me?"

"Um ... I don't know, Mr. Watson. I really don't like to hit people."

"Whatsamatta, tough guy? Afraid Mary Jane'll find out you ain't no real man?"

"Phil, stop trying to provoke him," Madeline demanded.

"Take it easy, Madeline. I'm just bustin' the kid's balls a little bit. If he's got any, that is." He started guffawing, oblivious to the silent glances exchanged between May and Mary Jane.

Aunt May made the sign of the cross.

"Whaddya worried about, Mrs. Parker? I ain't gonna hit 'im back, I promise. I just wanna see what kinda stuff he's got." He noticed Mary Jane doing the same thing. "Whatsamatta, girl? You worried that your bookworm boyfriend'll hurt his hand?"

Mary Jane said nothing. She just shook her head. _Do men ever outgrow the need to prove themselves...?_

"All right, Parker, enough games." Phil stood erect, exposing his gut, not even trying to cover up. "Go on, gimme your best shot."

"Well, okay ..." Peter connected with a roundhouse left, smack in the middle of Phil Watson's breadbasket. Not too hard, but just enough to make him double over in momentary pain. And, Mary Jane hoped, get the message.

It took Phil Watson about a minute to recover. "How in the hell did you ...?" His voice trailed off. He was unable to finish the question.

"Did I do it right, Mr. Watson?" Peter asked with a practiced eagerness that fooled no one but him.

"Yeah, kid." A look of amazement was beginning to dawn on the man's face. "Lesson's over."

"Well, I'm glad," Aunt May said. "Fighting never solves anything."

"Sometimes, we ain't got no choice," Phil pointed out, still rubbing his stomach. "If a big guy like Flash Thompson was comin' after me, I would've fought back, too."

There was something in the man's voice that Mary Jane had never heard before. A hint of reasonableness? The first inkling of fatherly affection?

Or was she only hearing what she wanted to hear, her hopes fueled by wishful thinking that her father would somehow come around and accept her choice of a suitor? _People don't change..._

"You're a good boxer, Mr. Watson," Peter said.

"You're damn right I'm good." Phil went on, becoming more animated since he first arrived. "For three straight years, I was the golden gloves champion of East New York, back in Brooklyn. Then I turned pro and won my first five fights. I was really goin' places. I got to be a sparrin' partner for Sugar Ray Leonard."

"How come you quit?"

It was an innocent enough question. But it touched a nerve. Whatever it was that passed for a smile on Phil Watson's face abruptly faded, to be replaced with the surly expression that everyone who knew him well had long gotten used to. Mary Jane and Madeline looked at each other, wondering if Phil was going to launch into another one of his tirades. But, to their complete surprise, and without any prompting whatsoever, Phil Watson finally came clean about his past.

"The boss of the fight racket back then was a guy named Fallon. If you wanted to get anywhere, you had to go through him. I got matched with some washed-up has-been named Jack Murdock. Called himself 'the Devil.' He always had his kid around 'im. I coulda taken this guy out in the first round, easily. Just before the fight, Fallon comes up to me told me to throw the fight." He stopped for a moment, needing to collect himself, his voice close to breaking.

Mary Jane stared at her father in astonishment. In all the years she had lived under his roof, not once had she ever seen him cry.

Peter, sensing that he had hit a sore spot, said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Watson. I shouldn't have brought it up."

But Phil waved him off, continuing with his story. "Anyway, if you knew what was good for you, you did what Fallon told you to do. And I did. I did exactly what he told me to do. But I had no idea what I was doin'. When I fought, I always fought to win. Nobody ever gave me any pointers on how to throw a fight. So I went down in the fifth round, just like they told me. But afterwards, the judges reviewed the film and saw what I did. They took away my boxing license without ever letting me tell my side of the story. They just wanted to sweep the whole thing under the rug, and me along with it."

"What about Fallon?" Madeline asked. "He was your manager. Couldn't you go to him for help?"

"I did. And do ya know what happened? He sent his chief goon, some huge black guy with a bald head. That guy had this look about him that could scare the crap out of anyone. He carried this really heavy walking stick that musta weighed at least fifty pounds." He shuddered as events that he preferred to forget seeped back into his conscious mind.

"The Kingpin?" a stunned Mary Jane whispered into Peter's ear.

Peter nodded.

His voice cracking, Phil Watson struggled to finish. "I thought he was gonna whack me for sure, but instead he told me that Fallon had arranged a job for me at the railyards. Then he handed me this red rose and said, 'if you try to get back in the game, we're gonna kill ya. Have a nice life.'" He buried his head in his hands.

Madeline went over to embrace him. "Phil, you never told me."

Phil looked up, tears running down his cheeks. "What, that my manager was a fixer for the mob? How could I tell ya a thing like that? How could I tell anybody?"

"And you never fought again after that?"

Phil shook his head. "Nope. A few months later, I'd finally worked up the guts to ask Fallon to give me a second chance. But before I could even pick up the phone, I heard that the cops had found Jack Murdock dead in some alley, his kid right there with him. That was it. At that point, it wasn't worth it no more." He clenched his fists. "Those bastards took everything away from me. I coulda been a champ. There ain't no justice in this lousy world."

For Mary Jane, the revelation was nothing short of incredible. Suddenly, her father was no longer a miserable SOB, but an angry, embittered man whose livelihood had been taken away from him. In spite of all the abuse she had put up with from him over the years, she actually found herself feeling sorry for him. For all his faults, he was still an honest, law-abiding man who played by the rules.

She was about to mention the Kingpin's conviction when suddenly, Peter's head jerked up and started snapping from side to side, his eyes all but bugging out of his head as sounds of fire trucks, off in the distance, but getting closer, filtered through May's living room window.

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**To be concluded...**


	3. Chapter 3

**WE GATHER TOGETHER**

**by HTBThomas & Georgia Kennedy**

**Disclaimer**

**This story is a work of fiction based upon **_**Spider-Man,**_** copyright 2002 by Columbia Pictures Industries, Inc, all rights reserved.**_** Spider-Man 2**_**, copyright 2004 by Columbia Pictures Industries, Inc., all rights reserved, **_**Spider-Man 3, **_**copyright 2007 by Columbia Pictures Industries, Inc., all rights reserved, **_**Hulk, **_**copyright 2003 by Universal Studios, Inc., all rights reserved.****and**_**Daredevil - Director's Cut**_**, copyright 2004 by Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, Inc., all rights reserved. The authors are not connected with nor is this work authorized by Marvel Enterprises, or the aforementioned motion picture studios. This work is intended solely for posting on fanfiction websites, for the benefit and enjoyment of their intended audiences. No commercial or financial benefit accrues or is intended to accrue to the authors as a result of said posting.**

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Peter suddenly jumped to his feet, nearly knocking over Phil's O'Douls bottle in his haste. "What the hell, Parker...?" Annoyed, Phil grabbed for the bottle before what little was left inside could spill onto the coffee table.

But Peter ignored him, eyes narrowing as he seemed to focus on the source of the trouble. The fire engines were clearly audible now and getting closer by the moment. Mary Jane's insides clenched. _A fire on Thanksgiving afternoon? How horrible..._ A vision of flames engulfing May's comfy living room flashed across her vision, and she knew there was no other choice. She opened her mouth, but before she could utter a word...

"Peter, oh, my goodness!" May cried with impressive dismay. "I just remembered! Did you bring the applesauce, like I asked you?"

Her fiancé barely missed a beat. "Oh, no... I was sure it was _cranberry_ sauce this time..."

"No, definitely applesauce." May shook her head. "I suppose we can just..."

"Isn't there a 24-hour grocery a couple blocks from here?" Mary Jane put in hurriedly.

Both Madeline and Phil looked slightly perplexed. "Hell, I don't need no applesauce," Phil groused. "Ain't it almost time to eat?"

Peter was already opening the front door, threading his arms through the sleeves of his jacket. "No, it's just fine, Aunt May. It's no trouble at all. I'll be back in a jiffy." And with that he was gone.

Twenty minutes later, it was quiet in the apartment, except for the television. Madeline had helped May put the turkey back in the oven to keep it warm. Annoyed that dinner would be delayed, Phil had downed another O'Douls and gone back to watching the Patriots pound the Lions into the dust on their home turf. With less than five minutes left to play, the Pats were ahead thirty-five to three. As usual, they were driving downfield and were close to scoring another touchdown. "Come on Flash... Nail 'im... Yeah!" Phil yelled. Flash Thompson had apparently earned some consolation points by sacking Patriots' quarterback Tom Brady for a fifteen-yard loss on the play, not that it mattered much.

Mary Jane sat down at the opposite end of the couch from her father, alternately watching the game and glancing out the window, doing more of the latter than the former. "Didn't I tell you that Flash's gonna be a great football player?" Phil pointedly asked his daughter, oblivious to the expression of concern on her face. "He coulda stayed in college for two more years, but was good enough to go out early and get drafted in the first round. He's gonna be all-pro, you wait and see." He quickly looked up toward the kitchen to make sure that May and Madeline were out of earshot. Then shifted on the couch, moving closer to Mary Jane. He lowered his voice, his face twisting into its trademark scowl. "You had three guys who coulda given you everything you ever wanted, you know that? They was all nuts about you, and you let 'em all go for a bookworm who's probably gonna spend the rest of his life in some lab, playin' with test tubes."

Whatever compassion Mary Jane had felt for her father a few minutes earlier was rapidly being smothered by an urge to smash one of those empty O'Douls bottles over that cinderblock on top of his shoulders. _Peter's out there, probably risking his life, and he's bringing up my ex-boyfriends again...?_ But when she stopped to think about it, she realized how unrealistic it would be to expect any other reaction from Philip Watson. He was what he was, and he was not going to change. But that did not mean that she had to get down into the gutter with him. She would not allow her father to ruin the day, not after Aunt May and her mother had worked so hard to prepare the sumptuous meal that they were about to enjoy. Instead, she would engage him in a civilized debate. "If you felt that way about Peter at the wedding, why did you encourage me to leave John?"

"What was I supposed to do, make a scene? It was pretty obvious that you didn't love 'im. But that don't mean I was happy about what you did." He let out an exasperated sigh. "For the life of me, I just wish I knew what you see in that Parker kid anyway, 'cause I sure as hell don't."

It was a fair question, one that merited an answer despite the grating tone of voice and obnoxious choice of words. "Well, he's"_ ...brilliant, __hundreds of times stronger than the average human being and a hero to millions; oh, by the way, did I mention that he saved my life five times?..._ "the only man who I've ever had a real connection with, the only man who loves me for who I am."

"That and fifty cents'll get you a cup of coffee," Phil sneered. "All your old boyfriends had money comin' outta the wazoo. What's Parker got on them?"

Holding her temper in check, Mary Jane got up from the couch and stepped directly between her father and the TV. One hand was on her hip; the other was pointing a finger straight at him. "Let me tell you a few things about Peter that you probably don't know." She stabbed the air with her forefinger a few inches in front of his face, actually making him cringe a little as she drove her point home. "He's so smart that he skipped his last two years of college and went straight into grad school. Not only is he getting straight A's, but he's working as a consultant to a Wall Street investment firm that bets millions of dollars on the advice he gives them. And if that isn't enough for you, he's going to medical school next year. He's doing it all on his own, too, without help from a rich daddy."

But Phil was already tuning her out, his eyes drifting back toward the television screen. "Okay, I get your point. Now, will you get outta the way so I can watch the game?"

"I'm not finished, yet!" Mary Jane snapped, the sharpness of her tone startling him and prompting looks of surprise from Madeline and May. "When the doctors told Mom she was terminal, Peter persuaded Columbia Hospital to let her into the nanomed program. They didn't want to take her at first, because they didn't think the nanomeds would work for cancer patients. But Peter persisted, and he was right. And when the insurance company gave us a hard time, Peter stayed up for two nights straight, putting all the medical documents together so that I could make a case to their reps. Thanks to him, Mom's alive, and you're not stuck with a hospital bill you could never hope to pay. Does that answer your question?"

He threw up his hands. "Fine, Mary Jane, you win. Do whaddeva the hell you want. It's your life."

Mary Jane was somewhat surprised that her father seemed to have thrown in the towel so readily. In years past, he would never have tolerated such defiance from her. He would go after her, usually verbally, sometimes physically. Now, though, it seemed as if she and her father were at a stalemate. Was she finally getting through to him? Or was he beginning to suspect that Peter just might be a force to be reckoned with?

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed her mother whispering to Aunt May, who nodded as the two of them smiled.

Suddenly, the football game vanished and was replaced by the face of the local news anchor for New York City's FOX affiliate. "Now, what?" Phil growled as a banner declaring a breaking news story started flashing near the bottom of the screen. "_This just in ... We're taking you live to the scene of an apartment fire at the corner of Hoover Avenue and 135th Street, in Queens..."_

"Jesus Christ!" he yelled. "That's only a coupla blocks from here."

May and Madeline hurried into the living room. The four of them gathered around the television. Mouths agape, they watched as a TV news camera zoomed in on Spider-Man emerging from the window of a smoke-filled apartment about halfway up the building, carrying a small bundle with a pair of tiny feet sticking out of the bottom. The camera tracked Spider-Man as he scaled the wall and stayed with him until he handed the child to a police officer. Then he fired a webline and vanished somewhere over the rooftops.

Standing next to each other behind the couch, May and Mary Jane grasped each other's hands, the moisture in the corners of their eyes reflecting their pride in Peter.

"Arrgh!" Phil Watson groaned when he realized that FOX would not be cutting back to the game. He grabbed the remote and switched to the late game on CBS, which was just coming on. "Hey, Mary Jane," he barked. "Why didn't you ever make a play for Spider-Man when you had the chance? He's the one that saved your ass, not Parker. You coulda had him, too."

"Phil, give it a rest," Madeline said sharply.

"Spider-Man doesn't have time for women in his life," Mary Jane replied matter-of-factly, sharing a surreptitious look with Aunt May.

Her mother, meanwhile, was looking at the cuckoo clock. "It's getting kind of late," Madeline pointed out. "Shouldn't Peter be getting back by now?"

As if conjured up by magic words, Peter walked through the front door, carrying a small shopping bag. His hands and face were beet-red, as if he had been in the sun too long. "I got two jars of applesauce, Aunt May."

"It's about time you got back." Mary Jane could clearly detect a note of relief in May's voice. She started to rush toward her fiancé, but he discreetly waved her back. He must have been cooking inside his costume, she realized.

"Yeah, what the hell took you so long?" Phil grumbled.

"There was a fire near the store," Peter explained. "I got a little closer to it than I should've."

_If he's in pain, he's sure doing a remarkable job of hiding it_, thought Mary Jane.

"Well, that was pretty dumb," Phil remarked. Suddenly he looked as if he had just seen a pig fly and was struggling to come to terms with it. The color was actually starting to drain from his face. "You didn't happen to see Spider-Man did you?" he asked, his voice tinged with suspicion.

Mary Jane glanced at May, their eyes widening as MJ recalled what Phil had said to her in the bridal chamber just before her moment of liberation... _I might've been the crappiest father in the world, but I still got eyes that see and ears that hear..._

_Does he suspect anything...?_

But Peter showed no reaction at all to being put on the spot. He kept his expression and body language in neutral, using relaxation techniques he had honed through years of practice. "Actually, I did," he replied casually. "I caught a glimpse of him, just as he was leaving." He paused briefly. "Um, the truck from FOX News was there. Did they show it?"

"Yes, they did, Peter," May replied. "Now, go wash your hands, so we can sit down to dinner."

"Yes, Aunt May," Peter acknowledged.

"And hurry up," Phil called out after him. "We're all starving here." He continued to stare at Peter until the bathroom door closed behind him.

"Is something wrong, Phil?" asked Madeline, noticing the odd way in which her husband seemed to be following Peter with his eyes.

"No...uh, nothin'," he replied, his intense expression fading as quickly as it had formed.

As Peter was freshening up, May, Madeline, and Mary Jane brought out the food. May took her place at the head of the table. Phil and Madeline took their seats on one side while Mary Jane took hers on the other.

Phil loosened his tie. "I met Spider-Man once," he told Madeline matter-of-factly.

"You did?"

"Yeah, about six months ago. He captured two guys who held up Jack's liquor store over on Union Avenue. I actually shook his hand. He's incredible."

For the first time in her life, Mary Jane actually smiled at something her father had said. It was nice to hear him give her fiancé a compliment, even if he did not know it.

Peter, meanwhile, had emerged from the bathroom and sat down next to his fiancée, his skin already beginning to change back to its normal color. "This is some spread, Aunt May," he said admiringly, softly touching Mary Jane's hand under the table.

Mary Jane smiled and gently caressed the back of his neck with her other hand, feeling the heat from the fire emanating from his skin. Peter turned toward her, his magnificent eyes gazing into hers. And then they kissed.

"Knock it off," Phil said, his tone lacking malevolence for the first time that MJ could remember. "We're at the table."

"Mr. Watson is quite right, you two," May echoed in mock-sternness.

"Sorry," they said in unison as they separated their lips, but remained cheek-to-cheek, grinning sheepishly at Aunt May.

But then, Peter turned to face his soon-to-be-father-in-law, an earnest expression on his face. "Mr. Watson, I know it was hard for you to support your family, especially after everything you told us." Looking Phil straight in the eye, he added, "Thank you."

Phil Watson's lips twitched slightly, as if he might smile. But his demeanor turned gruff again when he saw that everyone was looking at him. "Just don't let anything happen to my daughter, you understand?"

Peter nodded solemnly. "Understood."

This time, it was Phil Watson who offered his hand. "Not so hard this time." The two men clasped hands across the table in what was for them an unspoken truce, for the duration of the meal, at least. MJ held out a slim hope that it would last much longer.

Phil started to stand up, reaching for the serving knives, but paused. All eyes were on him, Madeline gesturing with a shake of her head that he should sit down. He lowered himself back to his chair with an awkward thump.

"Shall we say grace?" Aunt May looked briefly at the people around the table, closed her eyes and folded her hands. "Dear Lord, as we gather together to give thanks for all your many blessings, let us not forget how lucky we are to have each other."

Mary Jane couldn't help but steal a quick peek at her family around the table. This day had not been the disaster she feared; on the contrary, it felt like there actually might have been a small-scale diplomatic breakthrough. Her eyes landed on Peter, who caught her grin and returned it with one of his own. He must have been doing the same thing.

"Be with us in this holiday season, Lord, and give us the strength to stand together in times of trouble. Amen."

As each head raised around the table, Mary Jane opened her eyes again, just in time to see her father, his own eyes still tightly closed, rumble his own quietly sincere, "Amen."

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The End. Happy Thanksgiving!


End file.
